Possession
by Abydos Jackson
Summary: Will Cousland has found something in the Brecilian Forest. Something that can make him stronger in their quest to defeat the Archdemon. But there are no gains without sacrifice, and is it worth the risk if you lose yourself in the process...?
1. Chapter 1

The sword was part of him.

Will sat slightly apart from the others and lovingly drew the whetstone against the long lines of the blade. The Cousland sword. Every little nick in the blade was a memory, the feel of the hilt in his hand a tangible link to his past. He inspected every part of the sword in minute detail, looking for any weakness in the grey iron.

Holding it up to the light of the setting sun he watched as the rays danced along the blade like liquid fire and remembered the sword in the hands of his father. The recollection brought a sad smile to his lips and he sighed with an old sorrow as he slowly brought the sword down to the rest in his lap...his fingers idly tapping the sword grip thoughtfully. Memories surfacing...

His father standing with arms crossed, sword strapped to his side, as he oversaw the training of his knights.

A teenage Fergus proudly practising his sword craft in the castle courtyard...

His mother smiling as a grinning, 7 year old Will struggled to lift the sword with both hands...laughing as he triumphantly held it aloft, before it came crashing back to the floor.

This weapon was his link to the past and it grounded him in the present.

Will ran a grimy hand through his dark hair and straightened, rolling his shoulders to work out the knots in his back and turned his attention to the hushed Dalish camp, eyeing the aravels with curiosity. He'd heard tales of the Dalish, of course, but he hadn't expected his rather romantic notion of their roaming lifestyle to be squashed within moments of the group entering the camp.

Laying aside his sword, Will tilted his head to one side and thoughtfully pondered the Dalish people... Suspicion, disease, a culture in decline. And yet, a people capable of creating such beauty. Their weapons and jewellery unmatched by any Ferelden work he'd ever seen, their stories beautiful, alien and compelling. Ancient and haunting melodies clung in desperation to these people and their way of life...Will felt it and knew he would mourn if it were lost.

Will glanced over at his companions and noting they were occupied, surreptitiously rifled through his back pace until he found his notebook and a stick of charcoal. Opening the book, he watched as a few Dalish children played with their hounds close to the nearest aravel and his fingers moved quickly over the pages as they sketched out what he was seeing. Simple joy. He didn't need to look down at the page...his experienced hands simply translated what his eyes perceived...simple lines had life breathed into them as he drew.

He felt the tension ease in his shoulders as his mind relaxed. He thought back to his brother peering over his shoulder as he sketched trading ships sailing through the Waking Sea. He remembered furiously sketching the dancers and jugglers at one of his mother's banquets. He smiled as he recalled proudly showing his father his latest portrait.

Completing his sketch of the Dalish children, he idly flicked to a fresh page of his notebook and tried to recollect the words Lanaya had told him earlier in that evening. He'd been struck by their importance. "You she...humans... don't often understand." She'd told him when he'd pressed a point she'd made...his smile bright...disarming...charming. "We are a scattered people. Divided in many ways. Yet we live by a shared code...something that binds us...completes us. Vir Tanadahl...the way of the three trees."

Will's eyes had brightened at this. He had burned with the sudden thrill of new knowledge...his fingers itching to record it. Lanaya's eyes had looked far away, as if in a dream as she recited her wisdom. "...Vir Assan...the Way of the Arrow. Fly straight and never waver. Vir Bor'Assan...the Way of the Bow. You must bend, but never break. Vir Adahlen...the Way of the Forest. Together you are stronger than the one." Her voice had trailed off after this, and after making uncomfortable apologies she had withdrawn, her eyes still starry.

He pondered this new information as he thought of his companions. Morrigan was like the arrow, he mused. Never wavering. Direct...to a fault at times, he chuckled. The charcoal stick scribed her name in flowing script next to the code without Will truly realising it. Alistair...his friend. His companion in arms... was the Way of the Forest... in battle it seemed they were the same person... Two warriors in synchronisation. Their paths would circle that of the others in an elegant dance, keeping their companions at the centre of the group as they despatched the enemy...pulled them in...drew their wrath...protected... safeguarded the treasure in their midst. His elegant script flowed across the page. Leliana...the Way of the Bow. Forever adapting to the challenges of life and yet...

Will froze...and then turned...

"Lel-i-ana!" He exclaimed in frustration, slamming his book shut, as the Bard chuckled at his annoyance. Her face was inches from his own as she leaned in close behind him, her lips close to his cheek; eyes sparkling.

Leliana rolled her eyes and sank down beside him, making him edge aside slightly. "You're scribbling _again_? Why won't you _ever _show me what you're up to?" She demanded.

Will frowned. "I _don't___scribble..." He maintained incredulously before his lips twitched into a mischievous smile. "...and I don't show you because I know it annoys you. Your pout is endearing." Leliana's eyes narrowed dangerously as he laughed and raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'm sorry. " Will chuckled. "It's just a few notes to help me remember...I don't have your bard's training to recall _everything___told to me. " He tucked the book to the other side of him and tried to sidetrack her. "But tell me, what have _you_ been up to?"

Leliana eyed him knowingly before her desire to share overtook her. "I was talking to Sarel...he's, well, one of their storytellers, I suppose. But, I got the impression that they only re-tell their songs and tales...they don't seem to create new ones."

"They're very concerned with preserving their culture." Will agreed, considering her words.

Leliana grinned suddenly, "Although the tales they _do_ share are fascinating…maybe I'll compose my own one day, no? " Her arms began to gesture wildly as her enthusiasm grew and her voice took on a dramatic tone. "A tale of adventurers, bound by their need to recruit the noble Dalish to their cause, must traverse the forest, bypass the ancient ruins, get engrossed by the magical relics…" She rolled her eyes again. "…before defeating the beasts and returning the triumphant heroes."

Will sat up straighter and tried vainly to look disinterested. "Ruins? Relics?"

The bard chuckled at him and shook her head. "The forest is full of them, apparently. Sarel told me that the Tevinter Imperium once tried to invade this place. They even had an outpost. The Dalish hunters still find evidence of the battles….old armour, weapons…skeletons even." She beamed at him. "You _do_ know we don't have time to poke into ever corner we come across tomorrow, don't you?"

"Sure…" Will's voice was distracted. "Absolutely…no wandering off this time."

Leliana pursed her lips thoughtfully…craning her neck to peer over at the note book laying beside his sword. "Sooo….now I've shared, will you let me see what you've been up to?"

Will blinked at her…shaking himself from his daydream…."No. I haven't finished tormenting you yet." He waved her away towards the others. "Go bother Alistair. Actually…" He smirked as he noticed the look on Morrigan's face staring daggers into his friend. "Go_save _Alistair. Morrigan looks like she's about to kill him. "

Will watched Leliana's retreating back before twisting his face into a thoughtful expression. _No…_he thought. _No distractions. What we're doing is too important._ He tried ineffectively to make sense of what his life had become. How could _he_, a man who couldn't even save his own family….his parents and Oriana, little Oren…hope to stop the Blight?

His hand moved of its accord back to his sword hilt, grasping it tightly as he grimaced at the painful memories.

Jaw set, Will stood, sheathing the sword purposefully into the worn, leather scabbard belted at his waist. _No room for doubt._ He told himself. He walked towards the others, noting Alistair's red face with amusement, that far from saving Alistair, Leliana was instead teasing the man mercilessly.

_T__here's no one else to do this. There's only us._

x x x x x x x x x x x x

So…Setrus? How do I thank you properly for all that you endure? The winging and the moaning and the loss of confidence…and you, **always **there to laugh at me and kick me up the back side. You're rather good at that, you know. ;-) Anyway…**thank you** for the read through…for the corrections and the suggestions…and for refusing to let me give up. Oh…and for the title of course!


	2. Chapter 2

The ogre was angry.

_Make that furious_, Will added as he half stumbled backwards, dodging another large fist heading for his head. _I __really__ hate these things_!

The ogre advanced on him. Its blood streaming from the open wounds that he'd inflicted. Will found his footing again, resettled his shield on his arm and ducked to the left of the ogre bringing his sword through in a backhanded slash to the creature's exposed torso. He followed the sword with his shield, slamming it into the wound he'd freshly created, drawing an agonised howl.

Reeling away, Will knew he was tiring. His muscles burned with adrenaline and his heart was pounding. A salty mix of sweat and grime glistened on his skin, making his sword hilt slip slightly in his hand. He never wore gauntlets. He remembered Alistair's incredulous expression when he tried to explain this, but he_ needed_ to feel the leather bindings as they pressed into his palm. It grounded him...that simple contact made him remember what he was fighting for.

Will took a moment to try to locate the others. Glancing around he caught a glimpse of Morrigan's robes behind, Leliana running towards him, lifting her bow as she sprinted. Alistair..."Where the hell...?" He muttered before the ogre, recovering from its shock, charged at the warrior with renewed fury.

He panicked...he shouldn't have, he knew that. But the ogre was such an overwhelming thing to behold and he wavered for just a moment...one moment too long... as it rushed him, batting aside Will's raised sword as it closed its powerful hands around his torso, lifting him high into the air.

The creature roared in ear splitting triumph, drawing Will closer to its face until he could smell its putrid breath and feel the heat of the foam of its saliva as it hit his exposed face. The roar was primeval; a sound that paralysed him for a few agonising seconds before he came to himself with a start and struggled violently against the creature's powerful grip.

Will's hands grasped at the creature's fists and he felt his chest constrict; his ribs creaking painfully beneath his heavy armour. His breath caught in his throat and he grimaced, his face drawn into a concentrated frown.

Drawing his shield arm back as far as he could, Will smashed it into the ogre's head with as much force as he could muster and simultaneously drove his boots into the creature's chest in a clumsy attempt to make it release him...In shock, he found himself falling as a blast of arcane fire sizzled through the air, flowing into the creature's face. A burst of Leliana's arrows followed, forcing the ogre back against a ridge.

Will quickly rolled away, and standing, shot an incensed look at Morrigan, ignoring the agonised cries of the beast for the moment as he waved his sword arm at her. "You know my **own**head was **right there**?" he demanded of her. Morrigan shrugged, smirking at him and then cocked her head to one side slightly, her eyes following something over his shoulder.

Turning, Will blinked in surprise as Alistair sprinted along the grassy ridge towards the rear of the ogre. "Distract it!" Will bellowed at the two women, and ran back into the creature's reach, drawing its distressed attention back to him. He shouted his own roar of defiance as he noted Alistair's position..._Almost there..._ he thought and shouldered his way into the wall of muscle and sinew that was the creature's legs. Blinkered by his closeness to the ogre, Will felt rather than saw the searing heat of Morrigan's next spell, and heard the faint buzz of Leliana's arrows as together they held the creature firmly in one position until, at last, Alistair reached the top of the ridge.

"Move!" Alistair screamed at them, and then reversing his sword, held it in a two handed grip as, jumping onto the creature's back, he forced the point of the blade down into its neck, severing the spinal cord and, with a grunt of exertion, drove it through until it burst from the beast's sternum in a spray of blood.

The ogre rocked on its feet for a few excruciating moments...before falling to its knees, tossing Alistair violently forwards over its head as it plunged to the ground with a low moan.

Leliana danced backwards gracefully as Alistair tumbled into an inelegant heap at her feet. He grinned up at her. "Well, that was fun, wasn't it?" he chuckled and ignoring a derisive snort from Morrigan, took the hand Leliana offered and hoisted himself to his feet. The bard giggled at him as he tentatively stretched his neck from side to side, shrugging in his armour, checking for any broken bones. "You **do** have a flair for the dramatic." She winked at him, shaking her head in mock disapproval before wandering off to retrieve any undamaged arrows.

Alistair focussed his attention on Morrigan, who, standing with her hands on her hips, regarded him with sneering distaste. "You'll get no admiration from me, if that's what you're waiting for." She snapped at him, holding his gaze until chuckling again, he backed away, pivoting on one foot until he was facing the corpse of the ogre.

Will was standing vigilant beside it…his sword still gripped tightly in his hand, listening attentively to the forest. Reaching Will's side, Alistair folded his arms across his chest and appraised the fallen creature, pursing his lips in thought. "Not quite as big as the one in the Tower of Ishal?" He asked, nodding thoughtfully. Will considered his question, looking the ogre up and down.

He sniffed, "It's at least _as_ big, surely?"

They grinned at each other.

"Riiiight…well…let me just get my sword back…" He planted a foot on the ogre's back and grasping his sword hilt, tugged at it until it slid free with a slice of steel against bone. He glanced around getting his bearings before adding. "I dropped my shield somewhere…I think it slid down the far side of the ridge. " He nodded his head in a vague direction.

"I'll look for it. You help Leliana. " Will told him and sheathing his sword set off in the direction Alistair had indicated, following the bottom of the ridge round as it declined away from the forest path.

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Will walked purposefully, taking in his surroundings as he glanced around for the missing shield. These forests were different from those around Highever. Denser. Greener. And eerily ancient. This forest had a soul of its own. Will felt it. He cocked his head to one side, the murmur of forgotten stories just beyond his hearing as the wind rustled through the leaves over head. His fingers twitched for his notebook as the forest whispered to him. There had been battles here, Will recalled and shivered suddenly as a cold breeze caressed the back of his neck. If ever a place was haunted _this _was it.

Shaking himself from his day dream, Will found himself drawn to a mass of brambles, and spotted Alistair's kite shield…just out of reach. _Of __**course**__ it is..._ Will smiled wryly to himself and shrugged his own shield onto his back. Looking around, he noted that the others were out of sight, although he could hear them…Morrigan and Alistair bickering like children.

Deciding he could reclaim the shield on his own he approached the brambles, eyeing the nasty looking thorns warily, thankful for the protection his armour would offer. Drawing his sword, he tried to cut a trail through, using his boots to trample them down where he could.

Swinging his sword, he hacked at the brambles until is hit something that made it clang rather than thud, and he felt a sharp vibration run through the sword into his hand. Peering through the foliage he spied what was certainly stonework and frowned to himself, puzzled. "Now what's **that **doing here...?" He muttered, and squinting slightly, pushed himself further into the brambles, forcing a path.

Clearing as many of the brambles aside as he could, Will found himself level with what looked to be a tombstone, or marker of some sort. _That can't be right..._ Examining it more closely he saw what looked to be centuries of moss and lichen attached to the stone and he reached out to touch it...

A wave of nausea hit him hard and Will rocked backwards on his heels in shock, drawing back his hand sharply with a hissed intake of breath. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion and tentatively touched his fingertips to it again. _This feels wrong._ Will could feel his body trembling, a deep sense of dark foreboding swelling in the pit of his stomach. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts..._Don't be ridiculous, man..._ and pressed the palm of his right hand fully against the stone.

Icy pain speared through his hand and down his arm, coursing to his heart, and he fell through a dizzying rush of darkness towards a pin point of sickening green light.

And then he saw it...or rather **him**. A flash of a man in darkly coloured robes, his face deathly pale, eyes sunken and dead in his face...

And he was looking at Will...eyes locked onto his, the man's face twisted into a mirthless grin. "You disturbed my wards, boy..." He rasped in an unfamiliar accent. The man leaned in close causing the pain to crystallize in Will's chest...expanding like the icy surface of a lake in the dead of winter. He couldn't breathe...he couldn't...

A sudden yelp of astonished pain pierced his vision as Alistair's hand fell on his shoulder and dragged him bodily back towards the light. "Maker! What was that...?" Alistair exclaimed wrenching away his hand and shaking it frantically as if he'd just been scalded. Will's mouth hung open in shock, his eyes wide with alarm. "I...I...the man, he..." His voice trailed off, his eyes moving involuntarily back to the tomb stone, Will reached out again as if in a dreamy trance.

Alistair grabbed his arm. "Oh, no you don't." He muttered angrily and then froze...the forest was quiet..._too_ quiet. The air was cold and dark...too dark for midday. His head jerked up in alarm as his eyes caught sight of a dark figure atop the ridge above them. Tall. Clad in archaic armour...a helmet with swept back wings...a wicked blade in its grasp.

_Revenant,_ his Templar training told him, as he instinctively reached for his own sword.

"Oh, bugger..."

Thanks, Setrus! As always, not _just _for the feedback, but for telling me how it really is... ;-) I **do** listen...sometimes


	3. Chapter 3

Leliana had been knocked to the ground before she'd even seen the Revenant.

But Morrigan had felt something...something that made her senses twang sharply. An unsettling quiet had settled over the forest. A wrongness that perhaps only someone with her experience of the wilderness would understand. Her breath puffed out in clouds of white moisture...the hair on the back of her neck rising sharply in warning...eyes narrowing in suspicion. _Something's not right..._

She turned to face Leliana. "Something's not rig..." She started, before** it** loomed ahead of her. A creature of legend rising in all its ancient glory. An imposing form clad in the mystery of ages, terrifying in its countenance, haughty and proud.

It stood in lofty profile watching the two women…gaze steady…sword point held low…almost lazily trailing towards the ground…

"Magnificent…" She breathed in awe…before a bundled mass of excitable warden tumbled past, knocking her sideways, charging towards the impassionate figure.

"Stop admiring the thing and throw something painful at it!" One of the men hollered as he sprinted past her. _Probably Alistair…the idiot-warden_…__she observed in irritation before shaking herself from her reverie.

_Here _was a thing to appreciate. She could _feel_ the power of it crackling in the air, making her amber eyes flash in excitement, an electric thrill coursing through her like lightening. Here it comes…

A metallic tang on her tongue…the savoured taste of the earth at the back of her throat…the ecstasy of a tempest…

**Her** magic; the source of **her** power…and it prickled at her skin…a heat in her palms burning in a fervour until the fireball blazed into life. She concentrated, letting it build, the flames licking at her skin in a loving caress…and then drove it forcibly at the Revenant. It burst on the creature's chest…a flaming rose in bloom.

The Revenant reeled for an instant…its guard down…and the warriors attacked with renewed vigour. Leliana, now recovered from being thrown, had drawn her daggers and was darting between the wardens, a graceful blur of sharp edges and rapid strikes.

Morrigan gasped, delighting in the lingering tingle of the spell. _Concentrate_ she told herself. _Rein it in _the distant memory of Flemeth told her_….you control the magic…it should __**never**__ control you_… Shaking the remnants of the spell from her fingertips she considered the scene carefully, holding the surge of power steady…allowing it to stream through her…controlled. Balanced. Constant.

She lifted her staff from her back, wrapping her elegant fingers around it with affection. Its touch was like mead flowing through her...intoxicating. Power writhed restlessly in the wood of her staff...power that called to her, and that only she could release. She delighted in the feel of it deep in her soul, the touch of a lover, and she smiled, tossing her head, exulting in the sensation. _Time to play a game, child_? Flemeth's words floated through her consciousness as the magic swelled, a thousand pin pricks under her skin...a manic grin..._Time indeed..._

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It was cold to the touch. A chill that nothing, not even a blacksmith's furnace, could warm.

Will knelt, holding the helmet in his hands and puzzling over the unbidden thought. "Now where did _that_ come from...? He muttered to himself and shivered involuntarily. He pushed aside the second wave of nausea to hit him that day as he ran his fingers over it. Something about this helm was...off. The helmet made him uneasy...a sense of something reaching out to grasp him. _Or something waiting to leap out of the darkness...like being a child playing hide-and-seek with Fergus, only...wrong_...he thought, and shook himself, casting the thoughts away, the memory of his tombstone vision overcome by curiosity.

It was crafted from silverite, he presumed; the silver metal glinting in the sun that had re-emerged now that the Revenant had passed, taking its eerie darkness with it. His eyes ran over it greedily...admiring the heavy visor and the blue feathered plume…and it shimmered…an otherworldly sheen reflecting in his eager eyes.

He turned it over carefully, taking in every detail. It was beautiful in its simplicity, balanced, the clever craftsmanship clear to see. This was fashioned by someone who understood war. But worn by whom? Will's fingers tapped idly against the metal as he considered that thought.

Something caught his eye inside the helm. _Scratches? Fine lines...wait...is that script? _He leaned in closer noting the flow of the writing and tilted the helm closer to his face, examining the writing it with meticulous attention. It seemed to glow, as if the etchings were ingrained with a faint luminescent ink. Cerulean...blue...it flowed within the markings, growing more intense as his mouth tried to form the letters.

"Hey, Alist..." He turned vaguely in the direction he thought the other man was only to find him standing beside him, a questioning look on his face. The man rubbed his hands together in pretence at glee and nodded at the helm in Will's hands.

"Ahhh...did the scary creature leave us a gift? How polite!" He smirked at Will "And very fitting considering the effort we put in, don't you think?"

Un-phased by the attempt at humour, and ignoring the merriment in the man's eyes, Will stood, tilting the inside of the helmet towards his face. "Have you seen anything like this before? I've never read anything like it."

Alistair examined it. "Huh...odd. It looks like ancient Tevinter. I once saw copies of script like this in the Chantry. Here..." He held out his hands for a closer look...

...and gave a sharp intake of breath as his hands closed over the metal. Alistair held the helm outstretched as if he couldn't bear to touch it. His face had paled...a sickened look haunting his eyes and twisting his mouth in revulsion.

He let it tumble to the ground. "Maker...I hoped never to see another one of those." He rubbed at his hands as if to try to remove the helmet's presence from his gauntlets.

Will scrambled for the helmet before it rolled away. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?" He scowled at him, wiping at the helm with his bare hands before turning back to his friend indignantly. "Why did you do that?" He demanded.

Alistair tore his eyes from it, his voice tinged with disgust as he spoke. "They told us of those back in Templar training. It's Lyrium enthused, Will. I recognise the...I don't know, the taste of it...the way it makes me feel. This was designed to give the wearer protection. An advantage somehow...whatever the enchanter wanted. But that thing's wrong." He stepped away slightly, still shaking his head, lips tight and thin. "It reeks of blood magic. I can _feel_ it everywhere. You should leave it...it's dangerous."

"But..." Will looked at him with a confused frown. The helmet still clasped tightly in his hands. "It's just a helmet, Alistair. " He smiled dismissively, moving purposefully past his friend towards the clearing their packs had been abandoned in during their attack. "How can you even know that, anyway?"

Alistair's hand caught his shoulder as he tried to pass, stopping him short and bringing their faces close. "Will, I'm serious. The Clerics taught us about these things." He eyed the helmet reluctantly, swallowing with disgust. "Someone forged that thing with blood and death. It's everything the Chantry hates and fears...you _can't _take it with you. I mean it." The last words stated matter of factly. Final.

They stared at each other...locked in uncomfortable silence.

Will licked his lips, his fingers moving absently over the surface of the helm. He could see Leliana studying their exchange suspiciously, Morrigan looking over at them in surprise. Alistair's eyes hardened, his brow furrowing as he planted his feet firmly...unmoving.

He gave a nervous laugh and shook off Alistair's hand with a grin, tucking the helmet under one arm. "Fine. You're right of course. Very sensible." Alistair breathed out a puff of air he hadn't realised he'd been holding and relaxed, stepping away from his friend, arms returning to his sides.

"But we _can't_ leave it here." Will continued, turning on one foot and walking backwards to the packs. His free arm gestured at the forest, sweeping around flamboyantly. "Anyone could find it. What if a Dalish stumbled upon it by mistake? That would be bad, right? We'll take it with us and when we get back to camp Wynne can look at it. She might be able to tell us how to destroy it. No harm done." He turned his back again and purposefully strode away towards their packs.

Alistair froze. _Wait a minute, how the hell did __that__ happen? _But what Will said made sense, damn it! He clenched his fists and watched as stooping, Will carefully, reverently even, started to bind the helmet to his pack. _If the wrong person got hold of that..._He shuddered and eyed his friend anxiously. _Well...no harm done. The Almost-Templar saved the day again...and at least he didn't try to put the thing on! _Alistair told himself dryly, trying to shake off a heavy feeling in his chest.

"Yes, Well..." He yelled after Will, scowling. "Just make sure that you _do_ show Wynne..." _**I'll**__ make sure that you show Wynne.. _He chewed his lip thoughtfully before adding at the top of his voice, "And while we're at it...stop poking your nose into places it doesn't belong!" He heard Will's distant chuckle as he raised his hand in acknowledgement, his back still facing him. Alistair froze again, something about the gesture making his blood run cold.

_I don't believe him..._

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Thanks, Setrus. ;-)


	4. Chapter 4

It had been easy...too easy...to distract Alistair with the demon statuette. The man's eyes had lit up with the passion of a collector, and he had accepted the onyx figure eagerly...

...leaving the plate gloves that the defeated Revenant had dropped lying un-noticed on the ground.

Will considered them now as the small camp fire died and the group slept. The gloves were heavy and glowed faintly with the same eerie light as the helmet. He traced his fingers over the cold metal and shivered; a familiar nausea welling in his stomach...the helmet had felt the same way. He was sure the gloves and helm belonged together...stamped with the same Tevinter seal...etched with the same flowing blue script.

Will's eyes flicked up guiltily towards Alistair's sleeping form. _Why didn't I tell him about these?_ He drummed his fingers gently on gleaming surface. _Because he'd try to take them._ _I'm not willing to give them up. _Why? The truth of the thought chilled him.

He leaned over and untied the helmet from his pack, bringing it closer to the gloves...and the nausea hit him again; this time hard, washing over him in a torrent. His hands grasped his thighs as he fought for control, a cold sweat breaking out on his face, trickling down the back of his neck. And yet as the feeling subsided, it was replaced with something else...a sense of having been strengthened...invigorated.

He knelt...placing the gloves and helmet before him on the ground, his eyes bright with anticipation. These items were a puzzle. A mystery for him to solve. _Bringing them together induces a physical response in those nearby...and an unpleasant one at that! _But _were_ they dangerous? Will fought against the urge to look at Alistair again. He tried to push against it but the doubt was there. He _knew_ that Alistair was right to be concerned, but these pieces of armour were unlike anything he'd seen before. They were powerful...he could feel that...Maker, he could taste it! The power rippled over the metal when he touched it, flowing over his hand like honey; smooth and tangible.

Was it possible that there was a full set out here somewhere? Will recalled Leliana's recount of the Imperium's attempt to invade these forests. Tales of ancient battles and evidence of their relics. Will sighed, suddenly overcome with weariness. _What am I doing here? How can it possibly be me in these forests...me a Grey Warden? Fergus was the adventurer...the warrior...the first born trained to deal with responsibility. I'm just the scribbler...the visionary...the dreamer. How can I fight darkspawn and slay an Archdemon?_

He puffed out a heavy sigh and looked up at the sky, the silhouettes of the ancient trees dark against the emerging daylight. He closed his eyes tight against a sudden and overwhelming grief for all that he'd lost; images of his family flashing through his mind in quick succession.

The face of his brother – you have to protect them.

The face of his father – A Cousland always does his duty.

The face of his mother – It's your responsibility now.

The distorted reflection of himself in the helmet - There' no one else.

_Because I have to. _

He eyed the gloves warily as they lay before him on the damp ground and thought back to the vision by the tombstone. _I disturbed whose wards? What were they there for? What does it have to do with this armour? _

So many unanswered questions...could they all be resolved by simply wearing these pieces?

He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully...before purposefully reaching down for the left glove. He slid his hand in quickly, picking up the right glove and repeating the process before he could change his mind.

A rush of power that he revelled in...triumphant... joyful...confident. He could feel the metal against his fingers, a prickling sensation building in the well of his palms as he stared at them in wonder. He flexed his fingers slowly and the sensation intensified, crawling over the back of his hands, seeping through his fingers. Will's head started to swim, his senses thick and dull, and he rocked back slightly on his knees. The prickling sensation was uncomfortable now, as if the inside of the gloves were studded with thorns, and he raised a hand in front of dazed eyes, absently noting a small trickle of blood running down his wrist. _Oh bug..._ His eyes rolled back in his head before he hit the ground with a heavy thud.

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Will's consciousness drifted in a world of pain and confusion. Fiery sparks danced before him in the darkness and outlandish voices hovered on the edge of his understanding. The voices drew him down in a dizzying spiral, dragging him towards what looked like a Blacksmith's forge. He seemed to hover before it, blinking in confusion as he looked down at his body. It looked unsubstantial, translucent, as if it was just a washed out memory of himself. Yet the blood congealing on his wrists was a vivid crimson, and the closer he got to the forge, the darker it became.

Will tore his panicked eyes away from the sight, his head turning frantically, trying to find something that made sense to him. Figures emerged from the gloom surrounding the forge and the distant echo of hammer against anvil rang in time with his heart thudding in his chest. Will tried to calm himself, squinting into the shadows, trying to make out the figures before him. He opened his mouth to speak, to question, to demand to know what was happening, only to find himself mute, his mouth hanging open in stunned silence.

His world shifted, and Will was slammed sideways before being yanked back to the forge...this time in foggy daylight. A figure in black robes positioned himself before a full suit of silverite armour, his pale hands outstretched. Recognition stunned Will as he realised what he was looking at..._his_ gloves and _his _helmet. _There __is__ more to be found_ he thought as a fierce thrill shot through him. A third figure lounged insolently in a doorway, a greedy smile on his face, his arms crossed over his breastplate. A whispered name formed in Will's mind..._**Alaric...he was the first...**_

Will turned his attention back to the robed man, and realised that he now had a wide eyed boy pushed up against the wall beside the armour. He can't be any more than 17, Will thought in horror, watching as the boy trembled violently against the larger man, who stood with one arm crushed into the boy's throat, the other touching the breastplate.

The hair on the back of Will's neck stood up, the painful sensation in his hands intensifying as the atmosphere grew thick and cold. _This is wrong..._ A blue light started to pulse from the hand over the breastplate, growing larger and more concentrated with every beat, sending ripples into every crevice of the armour, making it gleam with an un-natural light...and the boy's breathing grew ragged and sharp...his skin clammy and pale, and his eyes dark and fearful.

More words were muttered...words Will couldn't understand...and he was cold now, paralysed by the revolted fascination of what was happening before him. He watched, helpless, as the robed figure drew a dagger from a sheath at his waist, his lips never pausing in their whispered incantation, and with no hesitation slit the boy's throat deeply, letting him slide bodily to the floor beside the armour.

The boy clutched helplessly at his throat as he gurgled weakly, blood bubbling around his lips...his life flowing steadily towards the armour. Will watched as the blood pooled around the shimmering boots, and then stared in wonder as the blood was drawn over the boots, drenching them. The blood flowed upwards in a continual stream until the entire suit was coated in sticky, shining gore and the armour seemed to throb once, before the blood seeped into the metal, seemingly disappearing.

The robed man grinned triumphantly, "It is done. This is yours." He rasped to the man in the doorway, and then raised a weary hand to his head, his face pale, his eyes sunk deep. Alaric laughed, his voice full of longing and victory, gleefully vicious. He marched over to the robed man and took him by the shoulders, embracing him like a brother, and Will felt it. He **knew** what it was like to know the armour was his, to possess it fully, and a seed of envy flickered in the pit of his stomach. Will forced himself not to look at the broken body of the boy on the floor, or at the robed man shaking lyrium light from his finger tips, instead he focused on the armour that had been created, crafted into a thing of power. _I have to find the rest. _His eyes glowed with dark ardour, and his lips twitched into a smile before he felt himself tugged backwards, as if by a rope tied round his waist, pulling him into reality. One word followed him back to wakefulness..._**Juggernaut**_. 

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Will woke flat on his back, squinting into the sunlight, a tight band of pain over his forehead. He blinked in confusion as he tried to make sense of what had happened and then raised himself to his elbows as a figure loomed above him. "If you think you've quite finished sleeping, we would all like to leave now." Morrigan stood staring down at him, her head blocking out the sun, giving her an angelic halo that made Will chuckle despite himself.

Morrigan snorted and turned her back on him haughtily, but not before her quick eyes had taken in a pair of plate gloves she hadn't seen before, smears of blood on the man's wrists and dark circles under his eyes. He looked hung-over, she sneered to herself, knowing full well that they were travelling light, so it was unlikely.

They left quickly, without any fuss, Alistair leading the way, Will and Leliana following. Morrigan watched, her eyes narrowing as she studied Will. Leliana had been chattering like a songbird for half an hour now, but had been unable to engage Will in any conversation. His eyes seemed to be searching the forest for something. He'd run his hand over any ruined outcrops as if 'feeling' for something, and his eyes shone with a light she hadn't seen there before, almost as if he were fevered. Yet he didn't seem to be ill. On the contrary, he moved with vigour, his only words now, to hurry Alistair forward, deeper into the forest.

Morrigan cast her eyes back to the gloves and wondered again where they'd come from. Had he been carrying them in his pack all this time? She'd never seen him wear such things before, knowing that he preferred the grip of his own skin on his sword over any protection such metal casings would provide. She knew him to be a dangerous man. _All _warriors were dangerous and despite Will's bookish leanings and his curiosity for the unknown, he was a human noble, and their type_ always_ trained their men folk to kill and maim. Morrigan tapped her fingers idly on her leg as she followed behind. _The Idiot-Warden wants the old lady to look at that helmet. To find out what is was that he sensed. Well, I think I'll take a look myself before the day is out..._ She dropped her gaze to the dried blood around Will's wrists _...and I'll spare some time to work out that little puzzle too._

She frowned slightly, her brow creasing delicately. Was she softening to this group of foolish simpletons? She tossed her head, shaking the thought aside. No. It was just a little mystery to solve; something to pass the time as they travelled. Something to block out the incessant chatter of the little bard ahead of her. Morrigan walked behind, her eyes following the direction of Will's gaze as he continued his mystifying search of the forest. She couldn't shrug off the unsettled feeling she'd had on seeing Will passed out on the floor when they woke that morning, and the sudden flash of sneering arrogance in the man's eyes on waking. Something wasn't right. In fact, something was potentially very wrong indeed.

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Thank you, thank you, thank you, Setrus. For more this week than just reading though a silly chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

Alistair grimaced. Foliage that attacked you, monsters in every corner and talking trees that sent you on ridiculous quests. Yes...he _really_ hated this forest.

He watched Will warily as they walked. The other warden was pale, his eyes red-rimmed and distant as if lost in a dream. And yet he walked with a vitality that confused Alistair. After three revenants and a host of werewolves _he _was exhausted...why wasn't Will? He moved like a predator, exuding the confidence of an experienced and hardened warrior, and yet Alistair knew Will had yet to see a single campaign. He knew his friend was skilled with a blade, but he had yet to be tested in anything but skirmishes. So where had the energy come from? Why here and now?

He glanced at Morrigan and noted she was also watching the other warden suspiciously, her dark eyes bright and thoughtful. He cleared his throat, not wanting to enter conversation with the witch willingly, but uneasy enough to feel it necessary.

She beat him to it. "Just speak, idiot." She sighed. "You obviously need some help to interpret what is right before your eyes." She tilted her head to one side, enjoying the flash of anger in the man's eyes.

"You know this is why no one likes you, don't you?" He snapped, before raising his hands to placate her as she opened her mouth in retort. "Just...tell me what you're thinking."

The witch considered him for a moment before tossing her head in Will's direction. "You should pay closer attention to his choice of armour and what's being scavenged in the forest." Morrigan stated giving Alistair a meaningful look before she dropped back to join Leliana.

"I'm supposed to pay attention to his wardrobe choices?" Alistair muttered to himself, shaking his head in confusion, before his eyes caught a glimpse of Will's boots. He screwed up his face in concentration. _Are they shinier than usual? _He flicked his eyes back up to Will's pack, eyeing the helmet still strapped to it suspiciously and sighed, pursing his lips as he did so. The boots and the helmet gleamed in the sunlight, a blue tinged glow making Alistair's eyes narrow thoughtfully. "You stupid, bas..." he started, before shaking his head angrily and jogging slightly to catch up with the other warden.

He grabbed the man by the shoulder to make him halt. "Nice boots." He stated disdainfully. "New are they? And I see you've found yourself a matching pair of gloves. How nice..." He allowed his voice to trail off as he waited for his friend's reaction.

Will shrugged. "This stuff is scattered all over the place. It's better than what I had. It didn't belong to anyone, don't make a fuss."

The arrogance in Will's tone ignited an angry spark in Alistair, his hands clenching into fists as he leaned in close. "I told you things like that were dangerous." He spoke in a measured tone, his face twisted in revulsion as he threw an infuriated hand in the general direction of Will's newly acquired armour pieces.

Will looked at him quietly for a moment, refusing to move back as Alistair continued to stand in his personal space. His eyes hardened. "You told me the _helmet_ was dangerous. And I listened to you, remember?"

Alistair bristled, heat rising in his face. "And I bet if you took that stuff off we'd see the same Lyrium inscription that the helmet has!" He snorted. "But of course, _you_ know that already...which is why you deliberately didn't show me what you'd found. You knew I'd recognise it. You're an idiot Will. Maker, there's a_ reason_ why you shouldn't wear that stuff. Look at you!" He stepped back waving his hands at Will's pale face. "You look like you're about to fall over at any moment." He considered him for a moment before adding quietly, "Take them off."

"No." Will frowned.

"No?" Alistair exclaimed incredulously. "Blood magic is dangerous. Do I have to spell it out for you? You have no idea what it was created to do and even less of an idea of what it could do to _you_. Have you forgotten what we're doing right now? We have a blight to stop, and we're the only two wardens in Ferelden. If something happens to you because you were too stupid to listen our mission could fail. Take it off!"

"You want me to run around the forest in bare feet?" Will asked innocently.

Alistair riled. The man was smirking at him! _Actually_ smirking, and Alistair's hands moved of their own accord to grab at him in frustration...

"Boys!" Leliana's voice shouted in weary infuriation. Two heads snapped sheepishly in her direction as she stood with a hand on one hip, the other gesturing towards a clearing just ahead of them.

"When you've quite finished...the hermit is just around the bend. Perhaps you could leave this...whatever it is...for another time, no?"

Will grinned. A fervent smile that had no humour in it. There was a hunger and excitement behind the man's eyes that went beyond a simple mission to retrieve something from an old man. A cold feeling closed round Alistair's heart before Will took off in the direction she'd indicated with the sudden eagerness of a child.

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Alistair rounded the corner at a run, taking in the scene before him. Will was standing tall over an elderly man, his hand resting casually on his sword. The smirk on his face was unsettling. Distasteful. Sinister. _We have to get that armour off him. _Despite his anger, Alistair was genuinely worried.

Alistair moved further into the clearing and halted a few feet from the pair. There was a shrillness in the air around the two men that put his teeth on edge; something familiar that heightened his senses.

_Apostate_.

A sharp unpleasant bloody tang at the back of his throat.

_Blood Mage?_

Alistair's fingers twitched near his sword pommel as he eyed the hermit's staff. Instinctively he drew upon his Templar training, a cold clarity settling his previous anxiety. He stepped closer, keeping his eyes focussed on the hermit's face...watching for any hint of danger...and caught the end of a hissed declaration from the hermit.

"It's not fair! You don't even know what you have, boy! You don't deserve it. Give it to me!"

Will chuckled. A cold, harsh sound that made Alistair's eyes flicker to him in alarm. _Concentrate, Alistair. _He told himself. _Focus on the threat..._ A small voice inside him made him question for a startling moment where that threat really was. With the apostate or his friend? Alistair gave himself a mental shake, resuming his study of the old man as Morrigan and Leliana approached from behind.

"Exercise caution." Morrigan was muttering. "There's powerful magic here."

"No points for stating the obvious..." Alistair snorted...but never took his eyes from the men before him. Will was leaning closer...his eyes boring into those of the old man's. Something seemed to pass between them, and the hermit stepped back suddenly as if afraid. "You have no intention of trading, do you?" He asked, his voice suddenly clear, lacking the previous petulant tone.

Alistair opened his mouth to speak, but was halted as Will stepped into the hermit's space again. "No. I intend to take it from you." He said indifferently. Alistair's senses flared danger.

"Will..." Leliana began. "...couldn't we..." but stopped as the warden turned furious eyes upon her. The bard's eyes widened in shock, her mouth opening silently as she tried vainly to interpret the burning expression on his face. She took an involuntary step towards toward Alistair...

And then several things seemed to happen at once. The hermit raised his staff and the hair on the back of Alistair's neck bristled with the sudden discharge of magic. An explosion rocked the forest floor, and the cloying smell of sulphur filled his nostrils, making him gag. _Rage Demons_ – memories of Alistair's school boy Chantry lessons flashed as he felt the fiery aftermath of the explosion against his unprotected face.

Impulse took over as he pushed Leliana away from the two blazing figures emerging from the ground before them. Drawing his sword, he took in Morrigan's stance and knew that she was ready...where was Will? He spun quickly, marking the hermit and the other warden to the right of them, but didn't have time to do more before he sensed the demons drawing in their power. He shouted a warning, before raising his shield before him. He pulled the startled bard close, and braced himself for the flame blast he knew was coming.

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Will was aware that the others were moving in their own chaotic dance. Alistair. Leliana. Morrigan. Brute strength, lethal blades and frozen enchantment. Desperate lunges followed weary slashes. Icy blizzards sought to beat back flaming flares. They circled the demons, keeping them central as they tried to wear them down. Alistair's hair was slick with sweat as he stood his ground, his skin blistering against the flames of the creatures before him as he smashed his shield into them. Leliana darted between them, her daggers flying before she skipped back, her leather armour scorched and smoking. Morrigan's eyes blazed with their own frosty fire as she conjured winter from the air and cast it relentlessly at the demons.

To the right of them, Will moved in a dance of his own. Graceful. Controlled. Every movement considered. Vicious in its relentless intensity. The grin never left the warden's face as his blade slashed at the hermit's body. The old man was becoming desperate. None of his spells seemed to be having the intended effect and Will sneered at the panic in his eyes. He could _feel_ the spells hit him. Fire seared his skin, despair sought to break his heart, lightening shot through his body...he could feel it all. Pain. Sweet agony. Joyful torture. He was feeding on it, and the more desperately the hermit cast towards him, the stronger he became.

Laughter bubbled from deep inside him and the moment became all encompassing. The noise of the battle dimmed...the forest seemed to stand still, silently observing, and Will advanced upon the exhausted hermit. The old man was breathing heavily now, his limbs weary...Will could hear the thudding of the old man's heart...pumping his blood around that frail cage of a body...a blood mage's blood. His eyes flashed ecstasy as his blade pierced the old man's abdomen. He shoved hard, angling the blade sharply upwards until it crunched through the vertebrae and out through his back. With a twist of his wrist, Will tugged the sword sharply to the right, and calmly sliced the blade through the hermit's body, pulling bloody entrails with it.

The hermit had hit the floor before Will realised the old man hadn't even made a sound. He stood looking down at the body as blood pooled around his boots, and he grinned...triumphant and elated...before the world came back to him in flood of painful shame.

He staggered backwards, bile rising in the back of his throat, before his legs gave way and he fell to his knees in the gore of the hermit's corpse. Will could feel his heart pounding painfully in his chest and he shook violently, breaking out in a cold sweat. _Oh Maker...what..._

The hermit's dead eyes accused him blindly. Animals, darkspawn, yes. He'd killed before, but _never_ like this. He looked in horror at the blood he was kneeling in, at the body he'd almost shorn in two, and for the first time since putting on the gloves and boots he felt the fear that he'd seen reflected earlier in Alistair's eyes.

"Will..."

Leliana's voice hoarse and small...uncertain.

He raised his head, but didn't turn. He couldn't bear to see the reproach in her eyes. He pulled off the plate gloves, barely noticing several deep scratches in the skin, and forced himself to look at the hermit. "We need that acorn..." he said thickly, and rummaged through the man's pockets, finding the token quickly.

He clasped it tightly, feeling it dig into his palm. Forcing himself to breathe deeply he lifted his head and found Alistair standing before him, a mix of disgust and concern crossing his tired face. Will's chest tightened, and he cast his eyes at the ground, unable to meet the accusation in his gaze. "We needed it..." He repeated and was relieved when he was offered an arm to help him stand.

"What we need..." Alistair said bluntly. "...is a day off. A day away from beasts, brain eaters and certain death." He met Will's eyes. "And I think we need to find you something else to wear."

Will glanced guiltily at the gloves that he'd tossed aside. They were covered in blood. Smeared with the hermit's crimson life force. They lay in a bloody puddle...a puddle that looked to be getting smaller. He ran a shaking hand through his hair and watched as the gloves seemed to pulse with a life of their own, drawing in the blood. His eyes flicked to where Alistair had been standing, but he'd moved to Leliana, his arm around her shoulder as she leaned on him heavily. He was whispering something to her, his face close to her hair.

But Morrigan had noticed. She was watching in fascination. "You know that blood magic, isn't necessarily evil? Distasteful, yes. Dark? Definitely. But powerful, and such power can be controlled if you know how. Don't let the Chantry indoctrinated little Templar make you overly fearful."

She moved away, leaving Will pale and nauseated, still drunk with the power that he'd discovered, but feeling sick to his soul with the knowledge of what he was capable of.

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My thanks to Setrus, who has been working hard in the sun all day, but still found time to read my chapter for me before collapsing in front of his dinner. **Thank you.**


	6. Chapter 6

Will shoved Leliana hard, sending her stumbling backwards as the dragon rose high within the ruins. It beat its wings in a powerful rhythm sending a buffeting wind downwards, making the group shrink back, raising their arms to shield themselves from the dust and debris flying through the air.

Leliana's hair swept wildly about her face as the wind tore her breath away. She blinked in stunned confusion as the dragon continued to rise and fall causing a swirling vortex beneath it that kept both Will and Alistair at bay. And then it roared. A primeval sound that caught in her chest, freezing her as the sound reverberated in her ears. She gaped at it, watching as it finally landed in front of the two warriors. It opened its mouth again and a blast of flame flooded from the creature, washing over the men who had raised their shields, creating a flaming arc around them.

"Morrigan!" Alistair shouted, his breath rasping from the dry heat, and Leliana glanced to her left to see Morrigan raise her arms, her eyes focused and hard as she drew upon her own reserves to cast a shield over the men. She grunted slightly and staggered as the spell took effect, and Leliana reached out an arm to support her. Morrigan threw it off with a sneer, her eyes never leaving the creature before them. "Are you going to join us?" She snapped, before moving her arms again, readying herself to fortify the shield she'd just cast over the men.

Leliana shook off her confusion and pulled her bow from her shoulder, forcing her panic to steady. She pulled an arrow from her quiver and planting her feet deeply, notched it and aimed.

The dragon swept around the chamber, a creature of rage and fiery beauty. Morrigan was a whirlwind of concentrated fury, her face pale as she strengthened her shield with her own life force. Alistair moved in a dance back and force, hit and run, his face a mask of concentration, his splintmail smoking from the dragon's breath. Will was fluid grace and deadly strikes. His face gleeful, laughter on his lips. His sword a blur of movement, each swing spraying the creature's blood around the chamber...

...but Leliana stood silent and calm against the backdrop of turmoil and chaos. Everything in motion but her.

She took a deep breath...and tried not to think of the chilling expression on Will's face.

She imagined stepping outside of her body to check her stance...and pushed aside her unease at the sound of Will's malicious laugh.

She sighted along the arrow's shaft; imagined it flying true...and remembered his earnest, curious expression as she told Will of her time in Orlais.

His bare hands moving quickly, his eyes bright as he sketched their companions around the camp fire.

His face soft and thoughtful as he sat cleaning the Cousland sword.

Focused now, her eyes narrowed as she aimed, her mind willing the arrow to fly straight to its target.

The first arrow to the soft muscle under the dragon's forearm as it raised it to swipe at Alistair's exposed head.

The second piercing its under-belly as it reared back in pain from the first.

The third through its right eye...the shaft deep in the socket causing an explosion of gore and a shriek of pain unlike anything she'd heard before.

Will and Alistair watched the dragon flounder and then plunged their swords into the creature's chest, their blades sliding in simultaneously. The creature spewed one last stream of flame, before collapsing in a silent heap.

Leliana glanced to her right and noted Morrigan looking weary and pale. Her forehead was beaded with sweat and she was breathing heavily. Alistair's shoulders were slumped, his hair slick to his forehead, his breathing heavy...but Will walked effortlessly to the dragon's side and pushed at it with a booted foot, a mocking smile playing on his lips.

The dragon's blood began to spread from under its body...oozing in a sticky ring around the corpse, and Will stood amongst it as he pulled at his sword handle. Tugging it loose, he let it trail lazily in his hand.

_Some tales __suggest that Dragon's blood has magical properties_ Leliana's mind flicked rapidly through her store of bard's tales. Leliana could feel her heart thud in her chest and her eyes followed Will as he moved away from the stricken beast towards an area of scattered treasures, his boots covered in congealing blood. He kicked aside gems and coins and bent low to pull at something.

He turned to look towards her and Leliana's thudding heart seemed to slow…soft brown eyes turned hard and unseeing…could they even see _her_? Did she exist at all under that cold gaze? He tossed his head and indicated silently that she should join him, an unreadable expression on his face and Leliana's heart fluttered…_Fear_ she told herself. For the second time that day her friend had made her fearful of him. It wasn't that he'd killed the hermit that alarmed her, it was that he'd **enjoyed **delivering the final blows. And here it had been repeated. She had seen rapture in his eyes as he'd wielded his sword…death personified.

Her limbs heavy, she stepped towards Will, glancing anxiously at Alistair as she passed by. Her hand twitched involuntarily towards him as if seeking reassurance from his touch, but that small movement was noticed by Will and she saw his face darken as he cast suspicious eyes at them. His lips twisted into a distasteful sneer and she felt what was left of her composure fold in upon itself, her arms wrapping themselves around her body. _Maker, what's happening here? _

Leliana could feel Alistair's eyes on her back as she padded reluctantly to stand in front of Will. She looked up at him, desperately seeking something familiar in his face, something reassuring to grab hold of. He smiled…a humourless smile that made her feel nauseous.

"Hold out your hands." He told her, his smile twisting into an attempt at affection.

Her hands tightened involuntarily around her torso. "What?" She asked before thinking, but was relieved to discover her voice held firm.

A flicker of annoyance passed over the Warden's features. "Your hands. Hold them out." He demanded.

Leliana's head started to turn involuntarily towards Alistair, but as Will's eyes widened in anger again she stopped herself. She could sense Alistair moving towards them, his footsteps sure and comforting and she unfolded her arms and held them out, palms facing upwards. _A supplicant_ she found herself thinking, and felt nervous laughter threaten to bubble from her lips.

Will lifted his left arm, and almost with reverence laid a bow on her palms, its weight making her arms dip down slightly. "See the Elven script there? _Falon'Din's Reach._ " He asked, his fingers tracing over the bow until they came to rest on her upturned wrist . And there _he_ was. Will Cousland. His eyes flashing curiosity, not death. Daylight rather than night, and Leliana gave a tentative smile. "An elven god. I listened to stories of him back with the Dhalish." He told her, and her eyes brightened. "He's their god of the dead...their reaper. Deliverer of death." _Death..._ A mass of conflicting emotions crossed his face.He looked saddened...and Leliana yearned for him. He smirked...and Leliana's smile faltered. His eyes hardened...and storm clouds passed over the daylight in his eyes, hiding _their_ Will behind them. He glanced at his hand laying across her wrist and withdrew it slowly, his eyes meeting hers slyly.

"You should replace your old bow with this one. It's better." He told her and walked away, heading to one side of the chamber for the corpse of a knight who hadn't been as fortunate as they had. She gazed at his retreating back, her arms still held before her and as Alistair finally reached her side and placed his hand on her shoulder, she realised she'd been holding her breath.

Alistair squeezed her shoulder gently and she looked down at the bow, her hands gripping it tightly. "Better..." She repeated under her breath and frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Alistair..." She began, looking up at his face, and then onwards, towards where he was observing Will.

Will stood over the corpse of the knight...a sword in each hand. In his right, his gauntleted hand still gripped the Cousland family sword. His left held what seemed to be a saw sword. A wicked looking blade, the design of which she thought had Tevinter origins. Will was standing very still. His only movements the slight weighing of the swords in his hands, his back straight...and then a toss of his dark head and the Cousland sword slipped from his fingers as he turned away from the corpse and marched with purpose towards the chamber's exit.

The sword fell to the floor...metal clanging against stone...and the sound echoed reproachfully around the room.

"You should take that knight's plate armour." Will stated without looking at Alistair, still holding the saw sword in his hand as he paced past them. "It's better than that splintmail you insist upon wearing." And he was gone...beyond the archway and further into the ruins.

"I won't, thanks." Alistair muttered after him. "I don't know where it's been and you shouldn't take what you find _here_ at face value."

But Leliana was moving towards the dropped sword...as if her feet were compelled to take her there before she'd made up her mind to do so. Stopping before the abandoned blade she shouldered the bow and stooped down to take the sword from the floor.

Her bare hands trembled as they gripped the leather bindings of the hilt and her breath caught in her throat. _"This sword is part of me._" The ghost in her memory spoke wistfully.

"No..." Alistair's head whipped towards her and she was surprised to find that she'd spoken out loud. "No. I won't let this happen." She repeated, this time with conviction, and her own eyes hardened with resolve.

She reached behind her and pulled one of the twin blades from her back, tossing it aside. She slid the Cousland blade in its place and glanced at Alistair finding silent approval on his face.

Alistair nodded at her once with a grim smile on his face, then turned around looking for Morrigan. He found her watching them, her hands on her hips, her head to one side. She wrinkled her nose at them. "Are you both finding this as fascinating as I am?"

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Thanks, Setrus. For inspiring me and making me laugh.


	7. Chapter 7

Will felt a pull to this place of dank darkness. Abandoned, forsaken, derelict...these ruins spoke to him and dragged him onwards into the gloom. There was something down here that he _needed_. Something that _called_ to him. He _thirsted_ for it.

Striding through the abandoned corridors Will was aware that the others had yet to follow him. He was alone...and for the briefest of moments he was free of their misplaced concern. He rolled his shoulders and felt the helmet strapped to his pack shift slightly. Will's hand tightened on the grip of his sword and he grimaced slightly as he felt his skin stretch and crack under the glove's surface.

He knew what he'd see if he removed the gloves. His skin sore and bleeding, deep scores and oozing sores. Will had speculated days ago that the armour was feeding on him like a parasite. Nourishing itself on his blood...but what it gave in return was like ecstasy flowing through him...filling his being with a passion and lust that he'd never felt before. He hungered for the death of those who opposed him, yearned for their blood to flow before him, for with that came release. A door unlocking in his soul, flooding him with a power and strength that made him burn for more.

Will closed his eyes and luxuriated as tendrils of bliss extended through him whilst the boots absorbed the last of the dragon's blood on their surface..._Juggernaut_. The armour took from him, but it also gave, and he felt an alien surge as the dragon's life force was blended with his. His head dropped back and his lips parted slightly in pleasure as he _remembered_ what is was to fly...the dragon's memories twining sensuously with his own. The sensation of soaring took Will's breath away and for a moment he felt intoxicated, rocking slightly on his feet as it took hold of him.

His being filled with a torrent of pleasure so intense he felt his chest would explode. Blood rushed to his head making his heart beat pound in his ears as light flashed before his closed eyes...and then it dispersed...slowly...parting like a lover's promise of more..._if _he played his part. Will's face was flushed, his heart pounding and he ceased to question what was being stolen from his soul.

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"You selfish, bastard!" Alistair shouted at Will. "We don't have time for riddles and treasure hunts. We have an army to raise...there are darkspawn out there _killing_ Ferelden citizens!" He swept his arm around the room incredulously. "And you want us to go in there to look for a nice shiny piece of armour?" His face was flushed, his jaw tense as he glared at the other warden.

They stood before a large arched doorway. A fountain and pool sunk into the floor, an ancient alter against one wall.

Will shrugged. "I _want_ what's in that room." He spoke slowly. "And I don't need your permission to go and find it, templar." He spat out the last word distastefully, his eyes mocking, a half smile on his lips.

They stared at each other.

Alistair's fists clenched, his eyes hard and angry. Will's head on one side, his hand resting casually on his sword hilt.

Alistair tore his eyes away first, motioning for Morrigan and Leliana to follow him. He leaned in close to Will, his eyes hard and veiled. "There are people dying out there." He hissed. "And I won't have their deaths on _my_ hands..." He turned away in disgust and disappointment, his legs taking long strides as he climbed the stairs back into the main part of the building two at a time before he disappeared into the ruined corridors.

Will's eyes flashed furious contempt after him as Morrigan, eyebrows arched, followed more sedately. He turned heatedly to Leliana who stood behind him, his body blocking her retreat. His head buzzed with adrenaline. Will could _feel_ something in the sarcophagus chamber calling to him. It beckoned to him in desperate tones, enticing him, luring him onwards. Images of battle invaded his mind. Elves in archaic armour swung ghostly swords, women and children fled before him, men, bloodied and grinning, roaring in triumph...he felt their hunger and their lust, and he would not be denied any longer.

Alistair's angry words already forgotten, he stepped into the room and was overwhelmed by a wave of desire. Whatever he was looking for wanted _him_ just as badly as he wanted it. Every step he took further into the chamber intensified his hunger as he reached the steps to the platform and climbed as if in a dream.

Will was only half aware of his feet moving him upwards. His senses were dizzy with memories that didn't belong to him. Men who had worn _Juggernaut_ before him, or who had been claimed _by_ it, Will didn't know the truth any longer. Their names crossed his mind fleetingly, dancing back out of reach as he tried to grasp them.

Reaching the top of the dais, Will approached the sarcophagus reverently, his eyes burning with passionate fervour. His heart thumped slowly in his chest now, pounding like a blacksmith's hammer in his chest. The sarcophagus had been disturbed, but Will knew what he wanted remained.

A gleam of silver made his breath catch as Will pushed the sarcophagus lid to the floor, the stone landing with an explosion of noise and a cloud of dust. The plate armour shone silver, but as he grasped for it greedily with gloved hands it seemed to flare suddenly and flame cerulean blue. Will's soul sang…his heart bursting with his desire and lust and he caressed the breastplate with trembling hands.

Releasing the straps, the armour he had been wearing fell to the floor in a clamour of steel beside his pack and the empty eyes of the helm he'd been carrying with him for what seemed like a millennia. He deferentially picked up the Juggernaut plate, buckling himself into it as if he'd done so a hundred times before.

And then Will _truly_ felt it.

A blast of frozen fire and burning ice ripping through him and detonating into a thousand pieces before a vortex of crackling light spun him back into body in an explosion of white light behind his eyes. Will revelled in the power that surged through his body and opened his eyes, his lips parting as he let out a sigh…

…finding Leliana before him. Pale and alone as she watched him with wide, anxious eyes. A deer ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger.

The bard licked her lips nervously. "Will, Alistair's…."

"Alistair!" Will hissed through clenched teeth. His hands clenched into angry fists and his face twisted in distaste. "Winging little templar who's afraid of power. Afraid of _his_ power. If he stepped up and demanded his place as King we'd already have an army at our command!"

Heat rose in him. Anger, power and a painful yearning entwined in the pit of his stomach and he advanced on Leliana, forcing her to stumble back, her legs halted by the sarcophagus. Will's hand reached out for her, and she stood frozen, her eyes wide and wary. Leliana tried to move away but found herself trapped, spell bound horror at the look of heated pleasure on his face. Will raised his hand to touch her hair tentatively, then drew it slowly down until it rested over her throat, forcing her to adjust her balance so as not to fall backwards into the sarcophagus. He brought his face in close, until she could feel his stubble on her cheek and his breath hot on her neck…and she gasped, as something glinted silver at Will's neck.

Alistair. Standing to Will's left with his sword levelled at the exposed skin just above Juggernaut's silver collar.

"Let...her…go…" He stated simply. His voice steady. Calm. Resigned…

Silence. And Leliana watched as darkness fell over Will's eyes.

Silence. And Alistair's heart sank, already mourning.

Silence…and Will suddenly turned. Lifting his left arm high and wind-milled around until he faced Alistair, bringing his arm down again trapping the man's sword and wrenching it free of his hand. Alistair stumbled back with a grunt and watched with startled eyes as Will's right fist followed through and smashed into his face sending a spray of blood through the air. Alistair tumbled to the floor and tried frantically to push himself up and away before Will came at him again, straddling his chest. He grasped the wide eyed man by the hair, lifting his head from the ground and struck him again. Hard. Then let his head fall back on the stone with a thud, his face turning to one side... senseless. Will raised his fist a third time, a red mist before his eyes.

"There's no need for that, now, is there?" Morrigan stood on the staircase precipice, a blazing fireball in the palm of her hand.

Will's eyes flickered towards her in surprise, and then down to Alistair whose face was covered with his own blood. Will held his bloodied hands before his face, and felt Alistair's taint sink into the metal and become part of him. He could taste him, _feel_ the blood of kings at the back of his throat…and he wanted more.

Will hesitated, torn between his hunger for more and the danger of the flame dancing in Morrigan's palm. He scowled at the witch, a petulant child whose fun had been ruined and then pushed himself away from Alistair's stricken form. He turned his back on Morrigan and heard a sharp hiss as the flame fizzled out. He caught Leliana's eyes as she edged away from him towards Alistair and watched as she knelt beside the man, her eyes wide in horror. Morrigan merely watched him with interest, her eyes following him as he started to move toward his pack.

Will picked up the pack and tore the helmet he'd been carrying with him since their first revenant fight from the straps, tearing the cloth bag in the process. Grasping the helmet between his hands he barely noticed as the pack fell, its contents spilling over the stone floor.

He lifted the helmet and gazed through the empty visor slits…

…_as his sketch book fell and the pages turned…_…_the bluffs around Highever…__...the ruins of Ostagar..._ ..._companions around a fire..._

Turning the helmet in his hands he placed it over his head, anticipating with pleasure what was to come. As he tugged it down the last thing he saw with his unvisored eyes was the two women before him. Morrigan nodding slightly, her eyes narrowed, lips pursed in thought, and Leliana shaking her head in a trembling _no. _The helmet seemed to click into place, and he gasped, his head dropping to one side.

_Completion_. _ Posession. Posessed…_

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A big **thank you** to everyone for reading all of this, and particularly to those who made my day by reviewing. :-)

Heartfelt thanks to Setrus…for his **endless** patience, **constant** encouragement and for **always** being there. But that's enough soppy stuff, right? ;-)


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